Stay
by Bekah1218
Summary: After Sherrinford, Molly receives a visitor. Sherlolly


It was several hours after Sherlock's very strange phone call. Molly was upset, not knowing why he had chosen to have her say _those _words, and actually did return them to her- twice! She didn't know whether to be sad or angry, but she was unsettled. Something had to be dreadfully awry with the detective.

Then her phone went. Grabbing it off her night-stand, she saw it was Mycroft calling. She sat there, unbelieving, as he outlined what had happened that day at Sherrinford, leaving no room for misinterpretation on her part. After asking him several questions, she thanked him and ended the call.

She lay in her bed tossing and turning, and was just about to give up and make tea, when she heard a noise at her door. Not the usual sound of Sherlock just picking her lock, but a soft knocking, followed by his voice calling her, mindful of the late hour for a change. Slightly shocked by this uncharacteristically considerate behaviour, she got up and, throwing her dressing gown around her and tying up the belt, she scuffed her feet into slippers and headed for the door.

When she got there, she opened the door, leaving the chain on until she was sure it was really Sherlock. He stood there, dripping, in his Belstaff, with two men dressed all in black, who were obviously armed. Mycroft's people, she knew.

"Molly, may I come in? We need to be sure everything is okay here. I'll explain it all to you while they search for anything -erm- dangerous," Sherlock told her, sounding horribly weary.

"Yes, Sherlock, please come in - your brother phoned and told me a little about what happened - it sounded horrible!" she finished, not wanting to keep him from talking to relieve some stress.

"Molly, when I called you, we were being held by a very unstable person, who said there were explosives in your flat. The only way they would not set them off was if I got you to say those words. You just barely said them in time... but I meant them, Molly, I really meant them. I surprised myself, but I meant them. Mol-" he was cut off by her flinging herself at him and hugging him.

"Oh, Sherlock, I wanted to believe you, but I was so shocked. Are you all right? You look dreadful!" Molly was removing his coat and scarf as she said all this, and directing him to sit on her sofa. "Can I get you some tea - and do you need anything patched up?"

"Tea, and some biscuits would be nice - if you have any of your ginger ones, that would be really good. And, erm, yeah, I probably have a few places that need cleaning and plasters on them," he replied as he settled in a little more, letting the warmth of her flat surround him.

Mycroft's men finished in half an hour and let him know that there had been nothing found. So, his sister was just bluffing, after all. He'd address all that later, he decided, as Molly scurried around her kitchen fixing tea and biscuits, after making sure he wasn't needing the first aid before sustenance.

She returned to the sitting room and placed a tray with tea and several kinds of biscuits on the coffee table. She served him tea and he took a few biscuits - the ginger ones, she noted with an internal smile. He looked all in, and like he hadn't slept for days. His hands were shaking as he drank the tea. Molly put a crocheted blanket around his shoulders and then held him for a minute. He took her arms off his shoulders and gestured for her to sit down beside him.

She looked tired, worried, but oh, so beautiful nonetheless. Her chestnut hair was down and hanging almost to her waist - funny, he hadn't realised it was getting that long, although she had worn it up the last few times they had talked at Barts. He frowned as her thought that she had worn it up for a year or more when they were around each other at all. Hm. Mustn't get distracted. He took a breath, let it out, and began.

"Molly, what happened today was all caused by someone I never knew about.

She is dangerously psychotic, and likes to play with people as if they are mere toys for her to break at will. John, Mycroft, and I were -" he was stopped by a small hand over his mouth. He gently moved it away and continued.

"But, Molly, there was a-a-coffin, with the words I Love You written on the engraved plate on the lid. It was for a woman _your _size. I completely lost the plot then, I smashed it to bits with my hands - that's why they're bleeding. Molly, when I thought that you'd die, I was so afraid that I'd wasted so many years because I was too stubborn, too afraid to see what I knew all along, inside. Can you forgive me?" he sat there looking for all the world like he feared her answer.

"Ssh, love, I know all about it. Mycroft phoned me before you got here and explained. It must have been horrible for you all to go through such a gauntlet of terror. I just want you to know that I love you, and I do believe you, even thought you seemed a bit surprised yourself, the second time you said it. Now, finish your tea and let me look at you in the other room, so I can see what needs tending."

Shocked, he sat back and drank the remainder of his tea, along with two ginger biscuits. (Molly really did bake the most delicious things.) Molly stood and took him by the hand, walking him back to her bedroom. His safe place, the best of his 'bolt-holes', as Mycroft called them. The place he returned to several times when he was 'dead', where he was always welcomed and cared for tenderly. He sighed as he lay down after removing his shirt and trousers.

Molly came in from the loo with a basin and flannel and towel. She sat beside him and gently looked at all the bruises and cuts, especially on his hands. She cleaned each one and applied antiseptic cream and plasters where needed. Then she reached into one of her drawers and retrieved his comfy pyjamas- the ones he had kept here for years, now. She brought them to the bed and helped him into them, along with some soft socks she kept there. After returning the things to the loo, she went out the the kitchen briefly, returning with a glass of water and two paracetamol tablets. He didn't protest, just lifted up long enough to swallow them.

Whilst she went out the the kitchen again to feed Toby, who was awake and crying for food, Sherlock got up gingerly and went into the loo himself, afterwards cleaning his teeth with the toothbrush he also kept there. Feeling much more human and a bit more like himself, he lay down again, waiting for Molly to come to bed.

When she did, she lay down and turned on her side facing him. He turned to face her, taking her face in his hands. He kissed her, at first tentatively, then with more confidence. This was their first real kiss, not merely a touch of his lips to her cheek. She put her hands into those curls - she had to - and stroked his head, and was rewarded with a soft sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan. Without realising it, they were both soon shedding tears: of relief, of grief, of joy. For the first time since he was six years old, Sherlock truly wept, letting go of so much confusion and hurt he hadn't know he was carrying inside. It seemed like hours before he stopped weeping, and he felt curiously lighter, but still fearful of the future. He put his forehead to Molly's breast, not wanting her to see.

For her part, Molly felt so much relief that he was here and in one piece. It sounded to her like things might have gone terribly awry. She just held him, and kept talking to him, as if to comfort a small child afraid of the dark. She told him all the things she had wanted to say for so long, that she loved him and would always do, and that they would be together now, no matter what. No matter how slowly he needed to take things, she was there for him. The words, "I love you" were said over again and again by the both of them - as if making up for years of silence.

Sherlock shifted to lie on his back. Molly scooted over closer to adjust, her arms fit around him as if they had been made for no other task. He'd nearly fall asleep, only to jerk suddenly and look around him. Sensing he was fighting to stay awake, she gently whispered into his curls as he relaxed, his limbs loosening as his body finally lost much of the tension of the day. She kept talking as he slipped into sleep.

"Ssh, sleep now. I'll stay right with you until you fall asleep."

**A/N **

**"I love you sounds best spoken in quiet acts of kindness." Richelle E. Goodrich, _Slaying Dragons. _ Written for a prompt from juldooz- thanks, and I hope you like this! Please review and/or comment.**


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